


赤壁

by yehana



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Apocalypse, End of the World, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 20:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13888359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehana/pseuds/yehana
Summary: All of a sudden, they're saying the world is going to end.Before it does, before they all die, before nuclear winter settles over them, Junhui has only one thing to do:live.





	赤壁

　 

 　 

The night the world is supposed to end, Junhui takes a shower. 

“Why on earth are you worried about being clean when the world is about to end anyway?” Wonwoo asks him, standing between the dining table and the kitchen counter, one hand on the back of a chair, the other holding his phone. 

It’s a pretty casual pose, and Wonwoo’s question comes with a disbelieving snort. Everything sounds and looks exactly like what Junhui would expect him from him, some vaguely condescending comment like he thinks Junhui’s a complete dumbass or at least someone very very weird. 

But given the circumstances, it’s not very Wonwoo-like at all. Maybe it’s the way Wonwoo grips the wood of the chair and the plastic case of his phone, knuckles white from how hard he’s clutching, joints stiff from his efforts to stop himself from shaking. Actually, Junhui’s taken his contacts out already so he can’t make out Wonwoo’s posture too clearly. More likely it’s the words Wonwoo had used, ‘when the world is about to end anyway,’ words that make it sound like Wonwoo cares emphatically about this sudden predicament. Junhui doesn’t think Wonwoo’s the kind of person to be scared of death or dying or the dead. Yet Wonwoo sounds like he’s thrown in the towel, and a Wonwoo that’s conceded defeat might be the most out of control Junhui’s ever seen him. 

“It’s eleven,” Junhui says. He shrugs. “Eleven p.m. is shower time.” This is his routine. Wash up at eleven, crawl into bed by midnight, read, sleep, wake up at seven the next morning to go to work. Nothing has changed even if the world is supposed to end, not in his routine anyway, not until there isn’t a morning or work to wake up to. Until such a moment comes, eleven is time for Junhui to turn on the fan in the bathroom, strip, and let the onslaught of water wash the sweat of the day down the drain. 

Junhui feels oddly calm. It’s as if, in their dying moments, he and Wonwoo have switched personalities. If anything, he’d have imagined himself as the one freaking out, pacing non-stop, worrying about the things he should do before it was all over, shrieking maybe, rambling out loud at the very least, trying to squeeze squishy object he can find for stress relief. Junhui should be frazzled, his mind should be whirring, he should be filled with an anxious kind of energy. And Wonwoo, Wonwoo should be anchoring him down, keeping him calm, steady and sure in the face of the worst uncertainties, always the comforting presence in Junhui’s life. 

Instead, Wonwoo’s faintly lost it, and Junhui is awash with a sense of peace. 

He thinks to himself that there’s no use crying over something you have absolutely no control over. He doesn’t say this aloud. 

Junhui might’ve been more antsy if he were reading the latest updates, articles with elaborate instructions granting the tiniest chances for survival, theories and context on the unforeseen launch of the NEMP, what various significant individuals have to say about the unanticipated situation. Although, reading those reports was probably the only thing keeping Wonwoo from exploding right now. While the SNS notifications and messages would have sent Junhui into a frenzy, absorbing information gives Wonwoo a greater sense of control. Each tidbit on how or why it was happening or what other people were doing or feeling served as a tent peg, the taut intersecting lines keeping him upright. To someone as cerebral as Wonwoo, facts probably seemed like stability. Meanwhile, somewhere out there, a journalist was probably wildly chasing the bomb because for some people throwing yourself into work felt less terrifying than saying ‘goodbye, I love you’ to your mom than heading straight for a weapon of mass destruction (and disruption). And Junhui? Junhui was going to take a shower goddamnit, and not let anything disrupt his routine. Everyone has their own ways of coping, after all. 

While Junhui’s busy scrubbing every inch of his body, getting ready to greet the grim reaper as the freshest smelling man no longer on earth, he remembers. He doesn’t have the flashbacks people describe in books, where you watch a sped-up movie of your life. It’s a conscious and peaceful reminiscence, steeped in nostalgia. He can’t remember exactly how it came up in conversation anymore, but he’d once asked Wonwoo about this kind of situation before, asked what he would do if he only had one day left on earth. Wonwoo had looked skyward, thinking hard on the question with his fingers on his chin, and then ultimately answered that he’d pick up a copy of a book he’d always meant to read but never got around to and hopefully finish it before the end of the day so he wouldn’t be left on a cliff-hanger. 

After the water’s been rinsing clear for at least ten minutes, Junhui finally turns off the taps and steps out onto the bath mat. He dries off roughly, wraps a towel around his waist, and pads out to the hall with droplets still beading from the ends of his hair. 

Wonwoo is leaning with his back against the kitchen counter when Junhui sees him again, a glass of water cupped between both hands, like even if the whole world were to shatter in the next minute, the drink would be kept safe and protected by the hems of Wonwoo’s shirtsleeves. His phone is lying on the table, screen turned face down, and Wonwoo’s gaze wanders anywhere but to that corner of the room. He also doesn’t look at Junhui but he lowers the glass from his lips and says quietly, “What should we do?”

Junhui thinks that particular phrasing probably bodes better than if Wonwoo had said, ‘what are we going to do’, and even if Wonwoo’s voice still sounds tight, there’s indication he’s regained some sense of control. 

“Well,” Junhui says. “My ass is squeeeaaky clean and we don’t have to be anywhere or do anything tomorrow morning.”

Way back when Junhui had asked Wonwoo what he would do if he only had one day left to live, Wonwoo turned the question back on Junhui. And Junhui hadn’t needed to pause to think like Wonwoo had before he was opening his mouth to describe exactly how he would obtain and consume each and every one of his favorite foods to savor their tastes in his mouth one last time. But now the fridge is right in front of him, the world is ending, and the litre of bottled milk tea on the inside shelf doesn’t appetize Junhui at all. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he drank that now, and sleep is definitely the cornerstone of his nighttime routine. 

Wonwoo blinks. The corners of his mouth pull down, but it’s a wonky sort of expression like he’s forgotten how to laugh and thinks a smile is a frown. He lifts his glass back up to his lips, downs the remaining water, and sets it down on the counter. 

“Let’s go then,” Wonwoo says, walking past Junhui and catching his wrist in his hand to drag him to the bedroom. 

As soon as he’s pulled both of them inside, Wonwoo tugs on Junhui’s arm, cups his face in his hands, and presses a kiss to Junhui’s mouth. Only a brief kiss, firm and warm but brief, and then he angles his head forward, leaning their foreheads together without saying a word. Junhui looks up then, wondering, but Wonwoo’s eyes are closed, and they remain that way for some period of time Junhui can’t determine as short or long. During the entire period, Junhui can feel the faintest brush of air from Wonwoo’s quiet breathing, and the firm pressure of Wonwoo’s forehead against his own. He takes the time to take in Wonwoo’s appearance, eyes raking over his face over and over again, staring, quite frankly, at close-range until Wonwoo’s eyes once again slide open. 

Again, Wonwoo doesn’t say anything aloud, just brushes his nose against Junhui’s cheek and then angles their mouths together. One of his hands curls around to the back of Junhui’s head, fingers threaded through his hair and holding him close, _pulling_ him close. Wonwoo’s other hand slides along Junhui’s neck, flips palm down over Junhui’s bare chest and rests briefly at the base of Junhui’s sternum before finally Wonwoo’s arm winds around Junhui’s waist, embracing him tightly so their chests are pressed together. 

Wonwoo kisses him slowly. Junhui tries to kiss back. Wonwoo allows the first insistent pressure of Junhui’s lips, but when Junhui swipes his tongue along the side of Wonwoo’s mouth, dipping past the corner of his lips to the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo’s tongue curls around his, pushes against him, and then he nips at Junhui for good measure. With his lower lip caught between Wonwoo’s teeth, Junhui acquiesces, lets him guide the way. 

Their relationship is a little like that. Junhui doesn’t think Wonwoo would admit it, but it’s Wonwoo saying, “Jun-ah, I think we should date,” or “Junnie, wanna move in with me?” not because Junhui can’t ask those questions but because Wonwoo needs to. 

Wonwoo’s hand travels down and squeezes at Junhui’s ass over the towel and Junhui melts a bit.

Okay, so a little bit of it is because he can get shy. Moving in together especially felt too much like intruding on Wonwoo’s private space, and Junhui resisted for a long time despite Wonwoo’s repeated invitations. Junhui being the one to ask about living together would be impossible. But as far as Junhui could recall, it was he who had initiated their first kiss. He’s not a sheep. He knows what he wants. Well, he doesn’t always know what he wants, but he knows what he wants when it comes to Wonwoo. It’s just that, unlike Wonwoo, Junhui doesn’t need to lead. It doesn’t matter to Junhui whether or not he’s following because he’s always mildly terrified either way. Being in a relationship is scary. You have to trust someone else. On the other hand, Wonwoo only seems to get a little panicky if he didn’t have the reins to hold on to, in case of anything.

With the doom of the world imminent, those reins have been stripped from Wonwoo’s hands. 

Junhui thinks that must be why Wonwoo is kissing him like this now. Like he’s _desperate_. It seems strange to describe the gentle meandering probe of Wonwoo’s tongue in Junhui’s mouth as desperate. ‘Desperate’ might better describe their younger escapades, like the time Junhui had come home after a few weeks in China and they’d barely closed the front door before they were tearing off each other’s clothes, Junhui’s oxfords still on his feet which were crossed behind Wonwoo’s back the entire time Wonwoo fucked him against the wall in the front hall. Or maybe you’d use ‘desperate’ to talk about the time they’d sat across from each other in the dining room, having a long conversation after their ‘break’ and when it became clear that they were both for trying again, Wonwoo had hoisted Jun onto the table, quickly decided it wasn’t sturdy enough, and then sat him on the kitchen counter to blow him right there. How could this kiss be desperate in comparison when this time, at least, they’d calmly headed to the bedroom first? But still, there was desperation in the way Wonwoo was ravaging Junhui’s mouth, like it was the last time and he wanted to relish and remember every moment. That, Junhui supposes, isn’t entirely untrue. The world is ending, and who knows how many kisses they have left? 

The thought spurs Junhui on a bit. If this is their last, if this truly is their last, then Junhui wants his own fill. And if Wonwoo’s going to dictate the way their mouths are mouthing, then Junhui’s going to find another way. He slips a hand under Wonwoo’s shirt, fingers tracing the ridges of his abdominals. He can feel Wonwoo flex instinctively; there’s some pride about this – Wonwoo doesn’t exactly work hard to exercise and yet the firm musculature is there for Junhui’s fixation. His fingertips follow the dips and curves and then presses, first gently and then again with more zeal against the firm little rectangles. 

Wonwoo impatiently pulls away to quickly tug his shirt over his head, flings it to some unknown location, and returns to kissing Junhui before Junhui’s processed any of it. This time the kiss can _definitely_ be considered desperate. Wonwoo kisses Junhui like it’s the only thing keeping the two of them alive, and each time his tongue brushes against the roof of Junhui’s mouth, Junhui’s head feels a little lighter. 

All the while, Junhui’s hands roam over Wonwoo’s torso, lingering over his chest, where he digs into the sinewy muscles connecting to Wonwoo’s breastbone. 

Without warning, Junhui pulls away and sinks to his knees, which he finds are pleasantly cushioned by the thick fabric of the towel. Wonwoo makes a low noise in his throat, sounding mighty displeased at the abrupt end to their kiss, but Junhui pays no heed. He’s too busy licking down the crevice lining the middle of Wonwoo’s abdomen, and trying to get his pants below his knees so they could get started on frying bigger fish, so to speak. 

He takes his time, licking from base to tip until Wonwoo’s cock is entirely slick with Junhui’s spit before finally covering the head of it with his lips and slowly taking more of it in until it fills his mouth. Just as before, Wonwoo’s fingers wind around Junhui’s hair and Junhui hums at the gentle tug on his scalp. Wonwoo lets out another noise but this time there’s no discontentment, not with Junhui’s mouth sliding over him, up and down, tongue smearing a mixture of precum and saliva against sensitive skin. 

Junhui wraps a hand around the base of Wonwoo’s dick, and twists until his lips meet his fingers. He only gets a few good sucks in before Wonwoo is holding him back and pulling him to his feet. “Enough. I’m so hard I— It’s the arousal and fear together it makes, you know what? Never mind. Just—”

And then he has Junhui sprawled on his back on the bed, Junhui whining loudly while Wonwoo untucks the towel at his hips and does away with his pants still bunched around his calves, making quick work of it all so there is nothing but them and the bed. 

“Jun-ah,” Wonwoo says reverently, a suitcase of emotion packed into a name.

Junhui whines again, wordlessly, conveying a message inside his head. He doesn’t appreciate being interrupted, not when he’d just started to get into it, built a good rhythm and everything, and the familiar weight of Wonwoo in his mouth, the spread of his jaw, all of it was rather comforting and—oh god oh god oh god, “ _Wonwoo-yah_.”

After grabbing wildly for a while, Junhui finally finds Wonwoo’s wrist and clutches tightly. It fails to deter Wonwoo, who goes from pressing feather-light kisses to the insides of Junhui’s thighs to mouthing against the skin below Junhui’s balls to pressing a kiss to Junhui’s puckered entrance, which surely flutters at the touch. Then there’s something warm and wet there, Wonwoo’s tongue licking circles around and around, swiping gently and firmly, closer and then further away. Despite Wonwoo’s hands spreading Junhui’s ass cheeks apart, Junhui can feel himself tightening against his own will, weak to the flickering of Wonwoo’s tongue. He feels hot all over, straining against not much more than air. He could die like this, Wonwoo’s face buried in his ass, tongue licking and licking and licking. 

Finally, _finally_ , Wonwoo pushes his tongue past the ring of muscle and Junhui faintly screams, head thrown back against the pillows as Wonwoo’s tongue darts in and out of him. 

“I hate this,” Junhui grits out between his panting, “I hate it when you do this.”

That earns an eyebrow raise from Wonwoo, who pauses to say, “I can stop if you’d like.”

Junhui digs his fingernails into Wonwoo’s arm. “Don’t you dare. You know I—oh, yes, there, thank you, please,” Junhui babbles once Wonwoo’s tongue returns to its rightful place. 

Between licks, Wonwoo tells him, “If you really did want me to stop I’d have been pretty put off. You were the one crowing about how clean your ass was.” 

“Shut up,” Junhui says, pushing Wonwoo back down. He loves this. He just about loses his mind every time Wonwoo goes down on him and then gets a second thrill from how much Wonwoo seems to enjoy it as well. 

“More,” Junhui gasps, “Wonwoo, please, more.” 

Under normal circumstances Wonwoo would probably tease it out, wait for Junhui’s threats to kill him before abiding, but with the end of the world weighing down on them, Wonwoo doesn’t waste time before he’s gone and back with lube to squeeze over Junhui’s ass, followed by a finger playing with Junhui’s hole, coaxing the muscles to relax. On one of Junhui’s exhales, that finger enters him easily, and Wonwoo pushes in slightly before withdrawing, deeper the next time and then deeper still, so on and so forth until he’s in up to his knuckle and stroking Junhui’s inner walls. 

That’s nice. It’s just – it’s nice. Junhui settles against Wonwoo’s hand, even more pleased when a second finger is added. And it’s then that Junhui realizes for the first time, and maybe the last as well, that he mews. Like a cat. Unless it’s a new development he’d never noticed it before, not until it came in stark contrast to the unsettling silence now enveloping the city. Junhui doesn’t think it’s ever been this quiet in or around the condo before, but now that it is, he can’t stop getting frustrated with himself for his inability to quit mewling. Maybe this is why Wonwoo keeps calling him a cat. 

Two fingers, to Junhui, is enough. He’s ready for Wonwoo’s cock now thank you very much, but Wonwoo doesn’t seem to get this memo because he inserts a third, and starts this achingly slow pace as if they have all the time in the world. They don’t have all the time in the world, and Wonwoo is doing that thing again, the one where he gives Junhui a little bit but not all of it, never enough, and Junhui outright whimpers. He puts in two pathetic little mews in there for added effect, but Wonwoo just thinks he’s _enjoying_ this. 

With a huff, Junhui demands, “Dick. Now,” to Wonwoo’s laughter, but once again Wonwoo readily agrees. 

Wonwoo slicks himself up with the lube, lies back, and pulls Junhui forward to straddle Wonwoo’s hips. “As you wish.”

It’s not every day you get Jeon Wonwoo spread naked before you, and it might also be Junhui’s last, so he does take a brief moment to take in Wonwoo’s appearance appreciatively before reaching behind himself with one hand to guide Wonwoo inside him. 

There’s no indication from Wonwoo that he plans on moving, other than to tweak one of Junhui’s nipples between his thumbs, which is so like Wonwoo to leave Junhui to do all the work this one last time. Not, Junhui thinks, that fucking himself on Wonwoo’s cock is a particular hardship. He eases himself down halfway at first, goes slow and steady until he’s filled up to the hilt, and then builds the pace up gradually from there. He relishes the friction inside him and the feeling of being filled, lets his eyes flutter closed to enjoy it. 

Before long, Junhui’s already breathless from the exertion. His legs are too tight in this position and he falls forward to grip Wonwoo’s shoulders. 

“Jun-ah?”

“I want—”

“Hmm…?”

There’s a strange flash in Junhui’s mind and he grimaces. “I want something I don’t think you can give me.”

“That’s not fair,” Wonwoo says. He peels back one of Junhui’s hands so he can hold it with his own and doesn’t flinch from all of Junhui’s squeezing. “When have I ever not given you something you wanted?” 

He has a point. Wonwoo was there with food when Junhui wanted comforting after his slew of failed job interviews, somehow managed to get Junhui the anniversary gifts he wanted even when Junhui pretend there wasn’t anything, even gave Junhui space when he’d started feeling antsy about getting everything he wanted. Not to mention the best orgasms of Junhui’s life. 

“But this time, I want us to be able to keep doing this when we’re old and our hair is greying and our joints don’t let us do anything bendy anymore.”

“I can’t stop the apocalypse, Junhui,” Wonwoo says gently. 

“I know!” Junhui gets strangely annoyed. “It’s— I just want you to fuck me, Jeon.”

“That I can do,” Wonwoo says, bending his knees to plant his feet on the mattress. He pulls Junhui forward again so he’s only propped up on his elbows and presses a quick kiss to Junhui’s cheek. “And with pleasure.”

Wonwoo thrusts upward and Junhui collapses with a moan. It’s better like this. It’s _so_ much better like this. Underneath Junhui, Wonwoo has a lot more range of motion and leverage, so it’s not only faster but also harder, and the combined effect makes Junhui feel like jelly. His bones and muscles turn weak and floppy, and all Junhui can focus on is the building feeling in his gut, all the pleasure pooling and pooling inside him. 

At this rate, he’s going to come untouched. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that the world is ending tonight. It’s not fair that the world is ending when Junhui still gets butterflies in his stomach just from seeing Wonwoo in the same room, when his hair stands on end with a simple touch, when he goes weak at the knees from a single kiss. It’s not fair that these feelings can be cut short just like that, when they both want to consummate their relationship at every possible moment, not because they’re still young and hedonistic, but because it’s a feel-good reminder of what they mean to each other. It’s been years like this, years and years, but there’s still years left. Decades even. And it’s not fair that all those future years are being taken so easily for nothing. 

He might cease to exist from how good Wonwoo makes him feel, impending apocalyptic shit or not be damned. They still have this. They still have now, and right now Wonwoo is fucking Junhui to oblivion, strings of incomprehensible syllables leaving Junhui’s mouth. He has no clue what to do with his hands, not finding purchase on anything he can get a hold of. The sheets have been all twisted up from the way he’s been yanking on them, but it’s not enough, he needs to grip something tighter. 

“Don’t stop,” Junhui chants, “don’tstopdon’tstopdon’t—”

Wonwoo pulls out, groaning a little.

“Why are you stopping?” Junhui cries out. 

Wonwoo pushes Junhui backward, kneels, and hooks Junhui’s ankles over his shoulders. “You like this angle better,” Wonwoo manages to say through heavy breathing. 

And that’s true, but Junhui’s needy, and he paws out for Wonwoo, impatient to get him thrusting inside again. 

It is a better angle, and not only that, but it finally gives Junhui’s hands something to grab onto. He claws into Wonwoo’s back, the skin easy for his nails to dig into, the flesh good for clinging. Tomorrow morning there will be scratches there, not that either of them will be alive to see them. 

It’s a good thing that Wonwoo’s back is there for Junhui to scratch up, frankly, because Junhui is so close he might have bitten straight through his own tongue if he hadn’t found another means of relief. He’s losing it, he’s really losing it, maybe already lost in the heady abandon of pleasure and warmth and satiety. 

“Do you like it, Jun-ah? Are you enjoying yourself?”

Junhui nods his head fervently, unable to form words, and pulls Wonwoo impossibly closer. 

“Be good and come for me now, Junnie,” Wonwoo says.

Soon after, Junhui does. He comes in spurts, still shuddering long after he’s made a mess all over his stomach, Wonwoo fucking him through the aftershocks. 

He doesn’t remember what happens after that quite clearly. He falls asleep at some point, that’s for sure, but at least one of them rises to wipe them up – it’s probably Wonwoo, truth be told, because when Junhui wakes up, his stomach is clean and he’s tucked with his back against Wonwoo’s chest, a pair of arms looped gently around his waist. 

When Junhui wakes up, the world has ended. 

Or, perhaps more accurately, the world is ending. 

There’s one loud boom after another, and then echoes of each explosion. Around the same time, all the electronics in the house go on the fritz, making any range of strange ominous sounds before zapping out. On the bedside table, their cell phones flash white and then go out, never to be used again. Outside, everything goes dark. Even at night, the city is usually lit up by street lamps and neon signs, enough that their room is never pitch black, even if the shades are drawn. And then, slowly, the sound of debris hitting the outside walls and windows begins. A strangely red hue accompanies this, like a dust storm out in the red clay of a desert. 

“Are you awake?” Junhui asks. 

“Hard not to be with all that noise.” Wonwoo presses a kiss to Junhui’s shoulder blade and tightens his hug around Junhui from behind. The sound of explosions is getting louder, each one closer and closer to where they are. 

Wonwoo’s doing something with his nose, like he wants to bury his face in Junhui’s back and suffocate there instead of being blown apart by a range of bombs. 

“There are dust storms in Beijing,” Junhui says. “They’re famous, I think. I’ve never actually seen one, or been in the city when they were supposed to happen. Let’s go there next. I mean, after Changwon for your birthday and Thailand for our anniversary. The vacation after that. I think Beijing is due for a visit from us, don’t you think?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. He doesn’t say anything. In their early days, Junhui used to assume that meant Wonwoo wasn’t listening, especially if there was something else happening at the same time, like Wonwoo drinking water or holding his phone. He used to think Wonwoo didn’t pay attention very much, or zoned out a lot. But then, once, he’d talked about how dreary it was in their house with Wonwoo seeming not to notice Junhui was speaking, and then the next day he’d come home to find that Wonwoo had bought a plant for each room to make things livelier. 

It’s just how Wonwoo is. Now, it’s something Junhui likes about him. That he cares about the small details even if it doesn’t seem like it. Junhui really, he really probably actually might, no, he absolutely definitely lov—

“Jeon Wonwoo, I’m glad I was able to spend this life with you,” Junhui says. His heart is racing. “I hope we can meet again in the next one.”

And Wonwoo’s listening. He’s listening attentively so he hears all the things Junhui says and doesn’t say. 

“I love you too, Junhui. I have loved you and will love you in all our lives to come.” 

 

 

 

_fin._


End file.
